


report from the edge

by orphan_account



Category: Panic! at the Disco, Young Veins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Blood, Drug Dealing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 01:30:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ryan meets Jon, he has blood on his hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	report from the edge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cottonstones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cottonstones/gifts).



> happy birthday to [you](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cottonstones)  
> happy birthday to [you](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cottonstones)  
> this is the first thing that i've written in a year and it's neither good or long enough to be a satisfactory birthday present  
> happy birthday to [you](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cottonstones)
> 
> ([title](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0c5BhXdVBqw))

When Ryan meets Jon, he has blood on his hands. Jon is momentarily caught off-guard, but he's not here to ask questions, he's here to sell this sad weird kid some weed on a tip from Tom, so instead of asking whose blood it is, he asks, "Do you have my money?"

"You sound like a fake dealer," the kid says in lieu of a proper answer. He affects a gruffness in his throat long enough to mimic, "'Do you have my -- '' and then coughs. "You sound like you're from a movie or something. Did you bring me coke by accident? Are you going to ask me to break bad with you?"

"Have you ever actually seen Breaking Bad?" Jon fingers the baggie in his coat pocket. He's not nervous, not exactly, but he wants to go back to his shithole apartment for once in his life and sleep the experience off, and the banter that this kid is offering up isn't good enough to justify making Jon stand on the front porch in below-zero weather. The least that he could do is let Jon step inside for a minute.

"No," the kid admits. "I'm pretty sure that they break bad in it, though, right? Kinda false advertising if they don't."

"Do you even know what -- No, never mind. Do you have my money or can I leave?"

The kid sighs, slouching a little. There's enough blood on his hands that Jon can finally start to smell it underneath the scent of winter chill. Shit, even if the kid has his money, he might leave anyway. He's not nearly sober enough to make sense of the situation and he's not nearly high enough to _want_ to make sense of it.

"Yeah. Come inside for a minute, I'll get it."

Jon is going to get his ass murdered by some kid in a fake leather jacket and it's going to be his own fucking fault.

 

Jon is sitting on the one chair in the living room that isn't masquerading as a bookshelf when the kid reappears. He eyes Jon and says, "You're in my chair."

"Sorry," Jon says, motioning to stand.

"No, it's fine. I mean, where else were you supposed to sit?"

"Do you read a lot?" Jon asks. It's a stupid question, the most mundane sort of small talk, but it makes the kid laugh. The sound makes the hairs on Jon's arms and the back of his neck rise.

"Actually, no, these were my boyfriend's books. I'm more of a musician -- do you play?"

Absolutely nothing about Jon gives off the vibe that he plays an instrument, but he _does_ , is the thing, and the fact that the kid could reasonably assume that he does is...it's enough to make Jon want to leave without getting his money.

"Yeah. My friend's guitarist broke his arm a couple of weeks ago, so I've been playing for him."

"Tom, right?"

"Do you know him?" Jon is maybe thirty seconds away from bolting.

"I know _of_ him. My boyfriend knew him. I met him a couple of times. The guitarist is Max, yeah? How did he break his arm?"

"Some asshole attacked him outside of a bar. He's healing up nicely. Should I give him your regards?" Jon still feels weird about the incident. The dude was all aggression and no motive, at least not an obvious one. He didn't even touch Max's wallet.

"No, I'll tell him myself."

Something about the situation isn't fitting right. Or maybe it's fitting too right? Jon knows almost everybody that Tom knows, how could this kid have slipped through the cracks? Someone as strange as him would have left an impression on Jon.

"Here's your money," the kid says, handing over a damp wad of bills to Jon.

"Whose blood is that?" Jon blurts out. There's a streak of it across Andrew Jackson's solemn face.

"My boyfriend's. It's fine. I'm fine now. Why did it take you so long to ask?"

"Who -- "

"You don't know him. You don't even know me and I've been watching you for months now."

Jon feels abruptly like he's going to throw up. He takes the baggie of weed out of his coat pocket and hands it to the kid and, once more, motions to stand.

"I'm Ryan. You keep calling me 'kid.' I'm twenty-seven, Jon."

"I'm leaving," Jon says. "I won't call the police. Just leave me and my friends alone, okay? I don't know what the fuck is going on, but -- "

Ryan sets the baggie of weed down on top of a thick volume on human anatomy and grabs Jon's wrist. His hands are warm. "Thanks for the weed. If you can, let Tom know that I'll be seeing him and Max in a few days."

Jon brushes past Ryan and out of the house. It's cold in the car, but his wrist is still warm from where Ryan gripped it.


End file.
